


Imprisonment

by LyssaTerald



Series: A Series of Debts [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Mind Control, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6797014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyssaTerald/pseuds/LyssaTerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time when she was imprisoned, a time that nearly broke her sanity and her marriage. Follow Sigyn's imprisonment at the hands of Amora.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was written in response to several requests to know what happened to Sigyn while under Amora’s control. Instead of glossing over it in the main story, I decided to write a fuller version of how it happened. Do note, this will span a number of years and quite possibly include depictions of violence.

The day it started, it wasn’t dark and stormy. Sigyn didn’t wake that morning thinking, _This is a good day to get kidnapped._ Her day started out with a morning that was slightly overcast and cool in temperature, but with hints of sunshine poking through. Loki woke her with his abrupt rising when something occurred to him between the haze of sleep and wakefulness. She threw one of their pillows at him before trying to curl back up and snatch a few more hours of sleep, but it was for naught with the noise he made trying to find something. The crash of a clay pot had her glaring at him from beneath the covers.

He, at least, had the good grace to look a little repentant with the broken pieces of clay still clutched in his hands before he vanished it. “That’s the third one this week, love,” she murmured, contemplating throwing another pillow at his head. “What spell are you working on that requires you to break so many pots?”

The look he gave her made her chuckle. If there was one way to wind him up, it was purposely asking wrong questions about his current project. Instead of rising to the bait, he asked, “Where did you put the sample that I took from the Bi-frost?”

She flipped the covers back over her head. “It gave off light so I put it in the kitchen…with the bat liver,” she said and the outraged noise he made was entirely worth having been woken so early.

“The _fresh_ bat liver?! If blood of any kind _touches_ it, the sample will be rendered useless. Do you _remember_ how long it took me to get permission from father _and_ Heimdal?” he asked, sounding more frustrated than angry.

She peered out at him from under the covers and smiled a little. “I jest, love. I moved it to the shelf above the cold cabinet where you wouldn’t miss it on your way out. Don’t forget to stop by the spring tonight. I’m going to need more of the blessed water to make more of the tonic,” she told him and the irritability seemed to bleed from him.

He had crossed their room and knelt beside the bed to take her face between his palms in a surprisingly tender gesture before she realized what he was doing. She didn’t jerk away, but any trace of sleep that had remained was gone in that moment. “Your father will survive this,” he said softly. “Your skills are unrivaled in any realm as a Healer and you will not fail, not with the life of one so precious to you.”

His words startled a sound from her that was torn between a laugh and a sob as the fear punched through her and twisted her stomach. A hundred and fifty years of marriage and she still wasn’t used to his keen way of hitting upon what made her twist with worry, even when she wasn’t quite aware of it herself. She extended her arms towards him and caught him in a hug. Burying her head in the crook of his neck, she let him straighten and draw her from the bed until she was standing in the balls of her feet and flush against him with one hand around her waist and the other rubbing her back in a soothing pattern.

The moment stretched into a minute and silence was still their only companion as he simply held her and she allowed herself to be held. They stayed like that, surrounded as they were by open spellbooks and handwritten notes scattered across every available surface, until a hard knock at the front door startled them apart.

Loki frowned, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before he stepped fully away and touched his palm to one of his books. A space before his eyes flattened itself into a square to allow him to see the individual knocking. A crease between his eyebrows deepened as he frowned at the sight of Fandral standing nervously on their doorstep.

“The idiot finally remembers where we left for and has the gall to send one of his little followers,” Loki muttered to himself. He added a few, choice explicitives about his brother’s intelligence that had Sigyn stepping around him to lean against his shoulder and take in the sight he was muttering over.

She had to laugh at the irony of it. “You’re only put out because you wanted _him_ to come and fetch you after how the two of you parted,” she said, dispelling the image. “Fandral is not a _follower_ that tags along to stand in Thor’s shadow. He has plenty of those who would give their pride as a warrior for him to simply _look_ at them.”

The look that he cast her sobered any amusement she’d been feeling and made her lean a little closer to him. “Yes, plenty of _willing_ souls to do as the Golden Thor of Asgard bids,” he said, a trace of bitterness coloring his tone.

There was a pause in which she wrapped her arms around him and said, “You must admit, though, if he is being cautious in approaching you again you cannot blame him after you spelled him into female form and gave him an aura of irresistibility which, under normal circumstances wouldn’t have put him off, you have to admit would have made him edgy after having to beat every male in the palace and the city away from him.” She paused and added with a slight smile, “I do believe he ended up in the mountains for a solid three weeks before your father could reverse the transformation _without_ embarrassing himself.”

The reminder had its intended effect as he glanced sidelong at her and grinned a little. “It was not one of my finer moments in a fit of temper, but the spell was exquisitely performed,” he admitted. The knock sounded again, a little more insistent this time, and the humor vanished from his features to be replaced by a cool mask of indifference. Sigyn detached herself and watched him walk out of their bedroom before she slipped into the closet to select her outfit for the day.

Loki didn’t look back once as he stepped out of the room to walk through the kitchen, retrieve his shard, and open the door with a flick of his fingers while he inspected the little piece of the Bi-frost. Fandral looked more than a little harassed, exhausted, and stressed-something the spell had not shown him. Curious now, he placed the shard back onto its shelf and raised his eyebrows expectantly at the warrior.

“Thor is injured,” Fandral said without preamble.

“Oh?” Loki asked, sounding a little amused. “Did his latest _mis_ adventure leave him with a thorn in his side? A crushed hand perhaps? Was his _pride_ injured perhaps?”

“It wasn’t a _misadventure_ this time. It was an assassin’s blade coated with a poison we can’t identify. The poison is eating him alive from the inside out. We’re not sure he’ll survive without Sigyn,” the warrior snapped, forgoing his usual jesting nature. “Heimdall sent me without waiting for an order from the Allfather. We _need_ her.”

There was no trace of amusement left, only a bright glittering rage that struck something cold and dark in him. A noise in the kitchen behind him drew his attention and he turned to find Sigyn not three steps from him, a potion in hand and her features drained of color. It was the tonic, he realized, the one that she gave her father to stop a poison from… _eating_ him… _alive_. She pressed the tonic into his hands and almost laughed, but the sound was more a choked sob than something of amusement.

To choose between her father-whom she couldn’t remember, but loved nonetheless-and the brother she _knew_ and had _chosen_ , Loki couldn’t begin to imagine the ways in which she was being torn. “I’ve three more,” she said. “I cannot leave my father at this stage. If he goes a day without healing _and_ the tonic then he will die inside of six hours. Father is further along. If Thor was only just wounded last night-” she broke off at the squeeze of his fingers around hers.

“I am a more than adequate healer,” he said, stepped left so his body blocked her from Fandral’s view. “Your father’s condition is more serious and I will be better able to track the source with an almost fresh sample. I am familiar with your process of making it. If this does not stop the initial spread, I am more than capable of retrieving the ingredients myself.”

Relief and gratitude were what he saw flickering through her eyes just before she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and darted back into the main interior of their little home. He watched her disappear back into their room, not realizing it would be the last he would see her for a long time.

 


	2. Taken

The bedroom in which the two women had ensconced themselves was both luxurious and bare of personal touches. The wooden bedframe had elegant patterns engraved across its surface. Upon the walls hung real life portraits from a time when the Vanaheim had been a vast and ruling empire, before the Asgardians and Odin had conquered them. The chest of drawers stood empty beneath the window that was half open to allow the night breeze to waft in. In the middle of the room there was a white fur rug that one of the dark haired, lithely built female was using to confine her pacing. The other, golden haired and of a similar build as her sister, sat reclined on the bed watching the other pace.

“She was supposed to choose _Thor_ ,” Angrboda, second heir to the Vanir throne, muttered.

Amora threw her head back and laughed. “She also wasn’t supposed to find out she was one of the Vanaheim heirs or marry a prince of Asgard or return or start curing the poison we’ve fed the stubborn bastard. You must face it, Angrboda, we need to approach her differently. Whether she is aware of it or not, she will continue to thwart you.”

There was a gleam in Amora’s eyes the made Angrboda shift uncomfortably and look away. It was the same gleam her sister usually wore just before she did something incredibly insane and of late that insanity had been leaning towards darker tendencies. “What did you have in mind?” she asked slowly. “I don’t want her dead, just out of the way long enough for the ascension.”

“Taking the memories of her childhood and dropping her in the middle of Asgard was supposed to ensure she had no idea she was a Vanir princess. _That_ was your idea. Poisoning our father was _your_ idea. _My_ idea is a little more hands on,” Amora said. “I’ve… _acquired_ …assets that will allow me to completely disappear from the realm and stay hidden for a long as I wish it. Loki is gone, that much good has come of your plan. What I need of you, darling sister, is to turn away and allow me to become disinherited. You won’t pursue me and you _will not_ fight me if it comes to it. This way, you can honestly say that you had no idea what I was planning.”

Angrboda’s stomach tightened at the implications, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t _want_ to know what the plan was. Any affection she had felt for Sigyn once was overruled by her ambition and she had come too far to turn back now.

* * *

Sigyn was sitting beside the plain bed the Vanir king occupied, watching his breathing slowly even out as the last of her spell sank into his skin and, briefly, illuminated the course the poison had taken through his body. It was, she noted, a little less than it had been the day before. Progress, in her opinion, was progress no matter how slow. Weeks had passed since her presence had been frantically _requested_ through Odin and the first time she had cast the spell there had been a heavy spiderweb of the poison slipping through his blood and rotting him from the inside out.

She could almost taste the smell that the memory called to mind and remembered the way she had almost been ill. It had been the work of frantic, ceaseless casting and sleepless nights to discover the concoction and spell combination she used to ease the work of the poison and restore what health she could. Seeing him now, resting somewhat peacefully, made something uncurl that had been wound far too tightly. A touch on her shoulder had her glancing up at a face that mirrored hers so well she’d touched her cheek the first time they’d seen each other.

“Mother,” she said warmly. Despite the lack of memories, she still retained the emotional attachments. Returning had allowed her to put a face to the feeling.

“His color is better, today,” her mother said. “You’ve done…far more than I expected you to, daughter. When I asked Odin to send you, I…never expected him to agree.”

Sigyn stifled a snort of annoyance. “I only heard of your request because Thor frequents the local taverns and confronted _his_ father over rumors of _my_ father’s illness.” She tried to stifle the resentment that had been festering in her since she had realized how long ago her mother had tried to ask for _her_ abilities, but it didn’t feel possible. Carefully, she extracted herself from her mother’s touch and rose from her father’s side. Her mother followed her from the bedroom to the privacy of the living room where there was no risk of disturbing her father’s rest. “Loki adores him, but for the eternity of me, I can’t see _why_. He is passively cruel and ignores Loki to the point of forgetting his existence. Then _this!_ Odin had _no right_ to deny your visit and not even _mention_ it to me. It’s like he expects the nine realms to fall at his feet! If I’d been only a few days sooner, I could have done more and he wouldn’t be at death’s door.”

Her mother reached a hand to her face and cradled her cheek, wiping gently at the tears she hadn’t realized were streaming. Sigyn gave a hiccupping sob and allowed her mother to draw her into a hug. It wasn’t until much later that her tears had dried that she made her farewells with the intention of collecting more of the blessed water for the tonic. Loki, after all, wouldn’t have had time to collect much before returning to Asgard.

* * *

The pool spread out before her and shimmered beneath the rays of sunlight that streamed ever clear from above. She was kneeling at its side filling the waterskin when the first blow struck her from behind and the waterskin dropped limply from her fingers. Power rushed to her call, but it was already too late. The spell released before she was conscious of what it was and darkness closed around her before she had time to panic.

* * *

They watched the threads of fate shiver and twist and twine around themselves, watched as the lives of all shorten to a span of years as a choice was made to trap the Healer. Before the eyes of the three Fates, Ragnarok unfolded itself in the form of the Liesmith upon the death of the Healer. Deft fingers and muttered curses were whispered into the darkness around them as they tried to unweave the path that had been woven, but it was for naught. A secondary path was laid, points that would determine the course of all their lives. First, though, a second choice was to be offered and an unholy bargain struck.

* * *

Within the shining, golden halls of Asgard’s palace, there was only silence and terse whispers as the news was passed along. Poisoned. The Heir had been poisoned and the Healer had refused to come to his aide. She had sent her husband, the Liesmith, the _Trickster_. Who were they to question the decision, but some murmured to each other that the Healer should have headed their king’s call and returned to Asgard to do her _duty._

She, they felt, should have abandoned the Vanir king to his inevitable death. What was a lesser king to their golden Thor? Perhaps then she would not have fallen as she had.

The words withered away beneath the cool glare that Loki cast on those he heard talking. There were shadows beneath his eyes and he hadn’t changed in the two days since he had arrived home again, but his power was still strong and his temper was closer to the surface than was usual. Thor, he _knew_ , was resting easier now than when he had arrived, but he didn’t appreciate the _third_ summons in two days. The guards in the _golden_ finery and _shining_ armor glanced disdainfully at him even as they allowed him entry into his father’s study.

His father was, for once, not reviewing old treaties and the other assorted paperwork that came with ruling a realm. Odin stood at the edge of the terrace that overlooked the training grounds where warriors new and old honed their skills and the sound of metal clashing against metal distantly arose. There was a heaviness to him that had not been there two days before, even with Thor’s poisoning. He _knew_ Thor was going to be fine, oaf that he was he was too stupid to die to something as cowardly as poison and a poison which Sigyn had been treating in her own father for weeks now.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but the words died when Odin turned his head to look at him. It was in the way his father studied him, the stiff set of his shoulders, the deepening lines around his eyes.

“How long?” he asked, his voice more of a hoarse croak.

“A few hours after you arrived home.” Honesty was the only thing Odin could give him. Soldiers from both realms had been unable to find any trace of her or her attacker outside of the half formed spell that had lingered around the pool.

“And you did not think to tell me before this?” Loki returned, shock mixing with fear and outrage.

Silence was his only answer. Loki closed his eyes for a moment, letting cold terror settle in his stomach before he swept it away. Sigyn was gone. Gone and taken from him for almost two days while he fought the poison that had plagued her father. Her father who was likely already dead for lack of her skill. _Thor_. Ever brilliant, _golden_ Thor had taken precedence in his father’s sight. Fear would not help him. Not here. Not now. _Now_ he could only focus on what needed to be done and what had already been done, but that did not stop the festering of resentment and anger towards his father for keeping the knowledge from him. If Odin would hide _this_ for two days for the sake of Thor’s health then _what_ -

Those thoughts wouldn’t help. Not here, not now. Sigyn was gone. Magically and physically overpowered, most likely. He opened his eyes and fixed his father with a cool look. “Now that you have deemed fit to _tell_ me, impart upon me the knowledge you _do_ have.” The hurt was there and gone in Odin’s features and a small part of him took savage pleasure in it.


End file.
